


Purple Notebook

by seiji



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Terriers
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blanket Permission, F/M, Fic fragments, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiji/pseuds/seiji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unrelated assortment of never-to-be-finished fic fragments from 2010-11 or so, recently discovered in an old purple notebook. Typed up and posted unedited for...posterity? All fragments free to a good home.</p>
<p>See chapter notes for additional ratings/warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Odo/Kira pre-relationship, Julian POV. Rated G, No warnings.

**Author's Note:**

> Blanket permission: if any of these bits strikes your fancy, do with it as you will! Just post as "Related Works" or, if hosting elsewhere, leave a comment here or @4seiji on tumblr or twitter with a link so I can check it out.  
> Concrit NOT requested. These fragments are incomplete and unedited and will forever stay that way. I'm posting them in the condition they were discovered in an old notebook (edited only for grammar) because I think they're decent enough to preserve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost a complete ficlet?

"Ah, Doctor. Just the man I wanted to see."

Julian stopped dead in his tracks, all thoughts of stock shortage, anesthetics, and Nurse Paghti's Tongo club forgotten. The automatic door hissed menacingly in the direction of his backside.

"Odo? Are you feeling all right?" His medical tricorder was suddenly in his hand and waving at Odo's arm, though what diagnosis he hoped to reach he couldn't have said.

"Perfectly. Tell me--as a solid--what do you think?" The arm waved--not quite a flap--and the feathers protruding from his sleeve flexed. "My perception of colors is, I believe, a bit different from the average humanoid's. I would like an honest opinion on my duplication of the coloring of my Tarkalian hawk plumage." His feathers flexed again.

As infrequently as Odo complained of health issues, (since regaining his changeling abilities, anyway), this air of abstract bemusement surfaced even more rarely. The tricorder snapped shut and clipped back to his belt, Julian crossed his arms and tapped one finger on his chin and hummed ponderously in his best imitation of an art critic.

"Hmm. Well, aren't Tarkalian hawks generally...pretty much...brown?"

"Indeed they are. As am I, pretty much."

"Then what's with the red spot?"

One sensitive to Odo's moods might have noticed his face fall just a bit. "'Red'? Could you describe the exact hue, perhaps, Doctor?"

Julian's eyebrows rose, then lowered again as Odo's expression remained hopeful, pinion still held parallel to his desk. "Well," he mumbled a bit, "I'm no art critic, you know. Couldn't tell European Bauhaus from Bolian Erainiian to save my life, but, if you insist..."

Odo did.

"...scarlet?"

The feathers flexed again, this time in consternation.

"Drat. I was going for vermilion."

 _The color of Vedeks' robes?_ Julian didn't say as Odo, holding the red spot directly before his eyes, began slowly extending and contracting what must have been temporary muscles, covering the spot under its brindled tawny neighbors and revealing it again. Julian was struck by a sudden juvenile desire to stick Odo in a full-body scanner and watch his shapeshifting process from the inside.

"Do Tarkalian hawks have vermilion spots, then? Can't say I've ever noticed. Or are you trying to differentiate yourself from other hawks?" He found himself suddenly closer to the desk, and the door finally closed with a self-satisfied _snick_.

"No, they do. That is, not vermilion, no--or some of them. They range in color." As if suddenly self-conscious, the feathers suddenly stopped flexing and retracted seamlessly into his sleeve as Odo made a harrumphing noise, steepled his fingers, leaned back in his chair. _Lecture Mode_ , Jake and Nog used to call it. "Tarkalian hawks, as you know, are generally all the same range of speckled browns that make up the Tarkalian desert, with little difference according to age or sex. Their one exception is in the base of the 'wal' feathers, a peculiarity of this one avian breed, hidden between the pinions. Upon reaching maturity, this small patch of hidden feathers turns bright blue for female birds, red for males. Or some hue adjacent thereto. Anyway, I just thought, in the interest of thoroughness, I was attempting to create a distinctive hue and then repeat it in subsequent transformations. Surprisingly difficult, that--consistency--such a _solid_ trait." He raised his arm again, cocked his head, and exuded speckled brown feathers. Cocking his head the other way, the simulated muscles rippled and flexed.

"Hn." A brief nod, then a series of three more. "How's that? Vermilion?"

"Very nearly, I think. Maybe a touch more golden-yellow." His hands were behind his back now, PADD bearing the original purpose of his visit completely hidden from Odo's view. His nose wrinkled as another thought occurred. "Odo, if these feathers are never visible, what's the point of them at all?"

The feathers rippled again. Odo continued without meeting his eyes. "Oh, the usual. Mating rituals, of course. The bone structure and musculature of the Tarkalian hawk's wing and placement of its anterior distal feathers are such that the 'wal' patch is visible only when the feathers are fully spread, deliberately in a courtship ritual," he crooked his arm inward to admire his own workmanship, "or at the terminal point of a steep dive. The only ones who know a hawk's true colors are his love," the feathers retracted, suddenly, audibly, and the constable's eyes sharpened, "and his prey." He was leaning forward now, forearm braced on the desk, eyes deep and superior under heavy brows-- _Grand High Inquisition Mode_ , Jake called it. Nog called it _Trouble_.

"Now, Doctor, what was it you came to see me about?"

 

(The next day over lunch he learned the Major had just commissioned a set of silk meditation robes in an uncharacteristic shade of teal.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that last line is abrupt. I did say "almost" a complete ficlet.
> 
> (Bonus brainstorming fragment from an adjacent page that didn't make it into the story proper: "and privately thought the concept patently ridiculous, as though he had suggested adopting ten-gallon hats and silver spurs into his deputies' uniforms")


	2. Tentoo/Rose, Rated M, Smut (No additional warnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very very V E R Y short.

He woke slowly--and wasn't _that_ novel, having not (to his knowledge) been drugged with anything but serotonin of his own production--to the smell of strawberries and spearmint and sand. His chest expanded--practically heaved--as he inhaled and his arms tightened around Rose and his left hand squashed quite enthusiastically against her right breast. She wasn't wearing a bra. His hips twitched and his cock throbbed between her legs, tight up against the flannel pyjamas between it and her cunt, and _cunt_ was such a nasty, salacious word that his cock throbbed again. He had a _cock_ now, fancy that! A proper human(ish) one that _throbbed_ in the presence of a beautiful woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, there was no terminal punctuation on this one. The handwriting was pretty scribbly, too.


	3. Britt/Katie, Rated E, Non-con (stalker/stalkee) roleplay smut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Started as an episode tag for that one where Katie finds out about Britt's involvement in burglarizing her house and, after feeling terrified and violated, asks him for some burglar roleplay sex. NON-CON TRIGGER WARNING. It's all pretend, but be warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just reiterating NON-CON TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter

"Don't scream. If you scream, I will gag you. Do you understand?"

She nodded, eyes wide in the half-light. All the shades were drawn, separating them from late afternoon. Heavy canvas bit into her thighs, but he wasn't resting any of his weight on her. Holding, not pinning, and he didn't look too heavy. If she could catch him by surprise--

"Don't even think about it. The pepper spray in the nightstand drawer? Nope. Moved it. I been here before, you know." He leaned closer, then, sliding his face along her neck, hovering over the lacy edge of her bra. Dark hair, goatee, mustache. Five-nine, deceptively slim. "God, you smell so good. I went through all your shampoos last time. I didn't boost anything, though. That was my partner. Well, no, I did take something. That wasn't me that took the TV and the CD player, though, the main operation? I just jimmy the locks. I'm real good with my hands." One of them slid, backhand, nails trailing from her temple down her cheek, through her hair, around, back down the other side of her neck to trace along her clavicle, back and forth, idly. He seemed transfixed by his own stroking. " _Real_ good. No, the thing I took--you miss it? God, you smell so _fucking_ good, fucking _amazing_ ," and with each obscenity a shiver ran down her spine--and into him, if that nervous twitch in his hips was any indication. "I went through your clothes," he continued in a rush, reciting hot breaths across her ear. His hips were rolling now, almost a grind, the kind that really gets you going when you're sixteen. "The clean ones and the dirty ones. I smelled your shampoos and I smelled your panties. The blue ones, with the lace? I kept those. Did you notice?" His legs shifted along hers, no longer pinning her hips but her whole body. His mouth pressed hot against her jugular, the short hairs on his face tickling with every syllable and one knee wedged between hers and began sliding up.

"I saw your pictures. It's all I could think about. I jerked it every night since then. Yesterday three times. _God_! Don't _move_ , don't _fucking scream_ , god, just _please_!"

Already somehow he'd shucked his hoodie--how?--her hands were in his hair, short, dark, disheveled, and his were scrabbling at the zipper on his pants, bumping up against her clit in what might not have been an accidental way.

"Good with your hands?" she managed, and it even sounded defiant.

"Fuckit." His voice, rough to start with, was tearing straight past gruff and gravelly and nearing a bulldog growl. "Goddamn. Show you somethin'." And the zipper was abandoned in favor of twitching aside the crotch of her panties and shoving in with two fingers until his knuckles jammed up against her ass. They groaned in harmony.

"You're so wet. God, I knew it. I knew we would be good together. I can be good for you, I--" His hand had turned, two fingers inside her now crooking slowly toward the ceiling while the thumb ghosted just above her clit.

"Bastard," she hissed, and it wasn't defiant at all.

"You like this?" He was slumped heavily against her all down one side, boneless but for the part of him jabbing insistently into the outside of her thigh. His breath tickled her ear. "Told you I'm good with my hands. I'm good with my mouth, too. And my dick. Which do you want?"

She whined and twitched against all of him, with which all of him very much agreed.

"You gotta choose. Which do you want?" He was licking now behind her ear, scraping his teeth down her neck, dragging her bra strap down over her shoulder while his hips shifted and his dick restated its argument against he inside of her thigh. His fingers slipped out and she whimpered and bucked up against him, drawing another tandem hiss.

"That. Please," she moaned, writhing now with every sinew. "God, please, I need you inside me now!" Her fingers and his fidgeted with his zipper, her toes curled and gripped, drawing the canvas up his calves and locking around his thighs.

He managed to shove down his pants and mumble "Glad we agree" just as her wriggling pulled his hips tight between hers and slid him home. For several seconds his breathing (and probably his heart) stopped.

"Fuck!" he bit out, grinding his nose into her neck and his t-shirt into her clit. Half his clothes were tangled up between them, and hers were probably unsalvageable now.

"Just like that, yeah! Don't stop, baby, I love you so much!"

"I love you too," he whimpered, voice breaking from husky to breathy on every third stroke. "From the minute I saw you, before I met you, I knew." Slurring badly, humming simpatico into her hair while his hips stuttered, twitched sideways. He paused to pant heavily and mash their mouths together, made an effort to swallow her tongue and lick her uvula simultaneously. Her toenails discovered bare skin on his ass and dug in, sending his shoulders back and dick surging forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS was the one I really wanted to save. This awkward smut that JUST CUTS OFF RIGHT IN THE MIDDLEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> I'm like 90% sure this was written in 2010, before I heard of asexuality. CAN YOU TELLLLLLLLLLLLL  
> god bless you younger me


End file.
